Fly Away
by Niagara
Summary: NEW CHAPTER - Sequel / Alternate Ending - Satine does not die on opening night (although she still has consumption). She and Christian run away as they planned to and try to build a life away from the Moulin. Please review!
1. It all ends today...

            The heavy red curtains rushed to a close and Zidler's diamond dogs were drowned in darkness. Satine's breathless gasps from the best performance of her life echoed around the small, stuffy area behind the velvet. She threw every last grain of energy into making her voice as inaudible as she could, and breathed to Christian,

            'We have to leave, we have to go,'

            And within seconds they had slipped backstage, leaving the ghost of a showgirl among the can-can dancers. Christian and Satine threw themselves down the corridor, more fearful than anything else. Satine flew through her dressing-room door. Christian halted and looked at her, wide-eyed. 

            'Go, get your things, go!' 

            She flayed with tears, seized her half-packed bag from the floor where she had left it that afternoon and began to sweep the rest of her belongings into the little case. She hurriedly chose a few bottles from the dressing table and hid every diamond she owned among the depths of the bag. She flung open her little window and opened the door of the birdcage. The little bird flew straight out into the night. Satine wrenched the glittering headdress from her head and threw it into the bag before enveloping herself in her grey travelling coat, pulling the collar around the Duke's magnificent necklace. As she turned to the door she was struck with the quick, sharp memory of Harry Zidler standing there only hours before. 

 'You're dying, Satine.' 

She sighed into the mirror before hurrying out of the Moulin Rouge for the last time. Satine walked quickly, with her head down, and she tucked her bright hair into her coat, convinced that it would give her away. She fled past the audience as they shuffled away from the Moulin, walking too quickly to hear their conversation, but sure they must have recognised her. They would not see their sparkling diamond again. 

            She found Christian's door ajar, and she found Christian himself taking papers down from his walls and pressing them into his suitcase. His room had never been lavish, but now it was barer than ever. He flung his arms around her and covered her face with kisses. 

            'I love you.' br

            Then he pulled his case shut and led her quickly down the stairs and away from Montmarte. Neither the courtesan or the writer turned to see the devastated man at the doors of the theatre, watching his little bird fly away and his beloved Moulin crash to the ground. 

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            Please tell me what you think, this is actually my first fanfic so feedback would be incredibly appreciated. 

            I pretty much know how I want this to end but I want to know whether anybody likes it so far and/or whether anyone will actually read it before I go to the trouble of writing the whole thing. Thanks for reading.


	2. My make-up may be flaking, but...

They left Montmarte wordlessly, Satine with her head bent against the lazy snow, her slender fingers clutching the coat around her throat, and Christian with his mouth set in an involuntary frown, stealing glances at her out of fear that she would suddenly change her mind and run back to the Moulin Rouge. When they finally got out of Montmarte, he stopped, but Satine marched on, desperate not to attract any attention to herself.

            Christian caught her up, now carrying both of their cases, and said,

            'There won't be anywhere to stay in the small hours.'

            Satine stopped, but didn't look up at him. 'I don't mean to discourage you. I don't want that at all. Satine?'

            She looked up, mouth open.

             'Then we'll just have to stay up all night,' she said, touching his cheek. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

            They walked a little longer 'til they came to a grey stone wall that ran around a lawn in front of a large, grey stone house. The snow faded away without settling, leaving the grass bright but wet. Christian flung the bags on top of the wall then pulled himself up backwards. Satine did the same. She sighed and looked up at the bare sky. As she tilted her head, Christian saw something glint at her neck and pulled away the dark collar with his finger. He was taken aback to see the necklace. She looked at him and whispered, 'I should have left them.'

            He brushed away the hair that fell in front of her eyes and shook his head. She pulled away. 'Yes,' she said, 'yes, I should have, and I shouldn't have left. Harry… and the Duke has the deeds to the Moulin!'

            Christian put his arm around her shoulders and she rested her troubled head on his. She had just said exactly what he had been dreading to hear. Satine quickly fell asleep, exhausted by herself.

She awoke hours afterwards to bright, warm sunlight to find that miraculously, her bag, full of diamonds, was still there.

             'Oh, my goodness-' she breathed as she realised what she could have lost. She jumped from the wall, jolting Christian awake, to rescue the bag by his side. She rummaged desperately through it, and upon finding her best friends still hidden, she collapsed over the bag with relief. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms and ran them back to her neck. Christian slid down from the wall and laid his arms over hers, holding her tight.

             'Do you want to go back?' he whispered, terrified that she would answer him at all.

             'Not to the Moulin –'

            He closed his eyes in a wave of helpless relief.

             '- But to Montmarte.'

            Christian pulled away and looked straight at her, hands on her shoulders.

 'What?' he asked. Satine's eyes searched for a justification in the wet road beneath her feet, and eventually shrugged out of Christian's grasp, saying,

 'It's my home.'

Christian sighed, defeated.

 'It's mine as well.'

She whimpered and flung her arms around him, her eyes still musical with tears.

'Christian, we could find a little place somewhere away from the Moulin Rouge, and you'll write a play and we'll sell it to a theatre. And I'll be an actress. And I don't want the diamonds, not one of them,' she cooed into his ear, 'you can sell every… last… rock.'

Christian laughed, and smiled, and picked up the bags to turn around and go straight back into Montmarte.

They walked arm in arm, their dark, anonymous coats and large bags completely juxtaposed with the bright winter sunlight and their peaceful minds. The white winter sun, very low in the sky, but very bright, picked out a few strands of Satine's hair and coloured them a glistening crimson. They passed steadily under the archway that was regarded as the gate to Montmarte, and both grew immediately tenser. But the tension did not come from Montmarte. It came from Christian and Satine, and most of all it came from the Moulin that loomed like a huge threatening ruby at the end of the street. Paris was unaware of what a disaster Spectacular Spectacular really had been. They didn't see Satine flee and they didn't know how the story was supposed to end. Only the courtesan, the sitar player, the maharaja and the creatures caught inside the theatre knew that it was rotting from the inside out.

The lovers turned down a side street and came at length to a little square with which neither was familiar. There was a very small outside café where a couple talked at one table and an old man sat drawing at another, and a small brownish pillar with a black clock at it's crown. It was a little past eleven. The square was enclosed on all sides by tall buildings with rows of windows, so that most of it was in shadow, and only the uppermost windows were blessed with any light at that time of day, and that time of year. Snatches of birdsong drifted down from somewhere on the distant rooftops.

Christian and Satine ventured past the few tables that sat on the still wet cobbles, receiving suspicious looks from the couple and no acknowledgement whatsoever from the old man. The café consisted of a large window through which a young-looking man with mussed up hair and his wife sold bread, butter and drinks, as well as he wobbly iron tables in the square. The man snapped at them as they greeted him, and, after not so very many questions, agreed to rent them the top floor of his building, which covered one side of the square. They had five whole rooms to themselves. The furniture was horribly bare, but Satine loved it because it was hers, and not Zidler's, and Christian loved it because it was _theirs_, and not his.

*          *          *

            Please tell me what you think; this is actually my first fanfic so feedback would be incredibly appreciated. 

I pretty much know how I want this to end but I want to know whether anybody likes it so far and/or whether anyone will actually read it before I go to the trouble of writing the whole thing. Thanks for reading.


End file.
